Holding On
by Lehcar Kutsick
Summary: Once again the team suffers the loss of one of their own. This time, though, it's not one his agents Gibbs has to help. Rating for language. Warning: Major Character Death!
1. Chapter 1

_Hi everyone! This is a side story to my other stories __Moving on__ and __Letting Go__. You don't have to read those, however, to understand this. In fact, this one takes place about five years before __Moving On__. I also started this before the season 9 finale, so ignore any small discrepancies. _

_Enjoy!_

_Diclaimer: I own no part of NCIS, including characters mentioned in the story below. _

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"I'm… I'm sorry," the EMT said quietly. "Even if we had gotten here sooner, we wouldn't have been able to revive him. At this point, all I can offer you is the fact that the heart attack was quick, and most likely quite painless. I know it doesn't always help, but it is something to know he didn't suffer. I'm sorry for your loss."

At that point, Gibbs stopped listening. He already knew everything the man was going to tell him. The body would be taken to the morgue, a lawyer would be contacted, a funeral director would be called, friends and family would have to be informed, and within a week or two the funeral would be held. Gibbs was no stranger to death or the process that preceded saying goodbye. So he tuned out the instructions the young man was giving him, patiently waiting until the ambulance left: left with his friend.

Thankfully, that moment came sooner than Gibbs expected, and he was grateful. He stood in the open doorway, watching as the bulky vehicle made its way slowly down the drive, disappearing behind the row of houses as it turned the corner. With a sigh, the agent closed the door, shutting out the chill of the night air.

Gibbs wandered back into the softly lit room. He paused as he gazed into the recently friendly room. The two plush chairs and couch surrounding the fireplace looked as they always had, and the rows of shelves and glass cases that lined the room held the same unique collection they always did. Even the glass of abandoned bourbon on the coffee table was familiar. The only thing out of place was the porcelain teacup upended on the floor. Gibbs walked over and slowly knelt in front of the cup. Gently, he picked it up and cradled it in his palm. His other hand came up to rest on the arm of the closest chair: the chair, that not an hour ago, was occupied by Dr. Mallard.

It was then, now that he was alone, that the tears came. Alone, kneeling in a puddle of cold tea, the broken porcelain cutting his palm, he wept. Everything was silent, the empty room magnifying the sound of his silent misery. He cried for his friend, a man who knew how to talk to anyone and everyone: a man who could see through others façades and identify the most troubling of emotions. Ducky had been one of the few people that had truly understood Gibbs, and now he was gone. Gibbs let the tears fall freely, not bothering to try to wipe them away. If anything, Ducky deserved the display of emotion.

The hot tears splashed down onto the stained carpet. Another family member gone: Gibbs wasn't sure how many more deaths fate had planned for him to witness, but he wasn't sure if he could take anymore. Each loss brought pain, fear, and anger. The other two emotions would come, but right now, in this moment, Gibbs embraced the pain. He let the tears fall, knowing that soon, before this night was over, he would have to stifle the tears: he would hide them for his family.

It was a long time before Gibbs noticed the tears had stopped. Even after this realization, it took him a long time to bring himself to his feet. Gently, he set the cracked teacup down before turning and walking from the room, not looking behind him once. With a steady gait, his shoulders squared, he took the house key off the hook by the door, and locked the house behind him. With a heavy heart and heavy hand, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. For a moment he merely stared at it. Before he left, the EMT had asked if Gibbs needed him to call anyone. Gibbs had refused, knowing he didn't want his team to find out from anyone but him. With a shaky sigh he dialed a long memorized number.

"Please tell me we don't have a case," Tony mumbled sleepily after he picked up.

"Call the team. Abby, Ziva, Tim, and Jimmy," he said quickly, trying to keep the shakiness out of his voice. "Tell them to meet us in the squad room, now."

"Boss?" Tony said uncertainly. "What's this about?"

"Just call them, and then get your ass to work," Gibbs barked, instantly regretting the harshness and emotion in his voice.

"Boss, what happened?" Tony asked his voice full of worry.

"Tony…" Gibbs felt his voice falter. "I'll explain when everyone's at the Yard." Without another word he hung up. It was better Tony didn't ask too many questions over the phone. Gibbs might not be able to keep it in. As it was, he tried the entire drive to NCIS to prepare himself to give the team the news.

Half an hour later he stepped off the elevator. Five expectant faces turned from their spaces around the squad room. "Boss," Tony said as he stood from his desk. "What's happened? What's going on?"

Gibbs stopped before he reached Tony's and Ziva's desks and looked around at his team. Ziva was perched on Tony's desk, playing nervously with a knife, and Tony now stood in front of his chair. Abby was huddled in Tim's chair, knees brought up to her chest. Tim stood behind her, a hand on each of her shoulders. Jimmy stood nervously by the half-wall beside Tim's desk, his weight shifting from foot to foot. Every face held the same expression of dread and worry.

"Boss?" Tim said quietly, forcing Gibbs to realize he had fallen silent.

He took a deep breath… and let it out. Damn him. He took another breath and tried again. "This evening, Ducky suffered a heart attack," he said, hardly looking any of the team in the eye.

"But he's okay now, right?" Abby said, looking expectantly at her mentor. "You took him to the hospital and he's there right now, getting some rest, right?"

Gibbs swallowed and looked at her. "He… he was gone before the ambulance could arrive They couldn't revive him."

Silence fell over the team. Gibbs looked away, not being able to take the looks in his team's eyes.

"Gone…" Ziva whispered, breaking the silence.

"No…" was all Tony could say. "No…"

"What do you mean gone?" Abby demanded, standing up. "You can't mean, like,* gone* gone, cause he… he just can't… Ducky has to be fine. He can't just be… you don't mean gone..."

"At 20:30, he and I were having a drink," Gibbs said slowly. "He picked up his tea cup, but his arm stopped halfway up. He dropped the cup and sat back into his chair." Gibbs felt the tears beginning to build back again, but he held them back. "The CPR didn't work, and there wasn't anything the EMT's could do. They said the attack was fast, and more than likely he didn't feel any pain."

"No," Abby cried. "No, no no no no!" she began to sob through her tears. Tim grabbed her shoulders again, turning her and pulling her into his embrace. She gripped the front of his jacket, her mascara already beginning to streak down her face. Tim hadn't said a word. He merely held onto her, running his hand across her shoulders, his own tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

Gibbs startled a bit as he heard a loud clunk. He turned his head to see Ziva, her head bowed, gripping the handle of the knife now driven deep into the wood of the desk. Her other hand gripped Tony's in a vice like grip. Gibbs briefly thought that the only reason Tony didn't flinch from the pain was the fact that he was squeezing back just as hard. The senior agent had fallen back into his previously abandoned chair. There were no tears, but his face was pale and his eyes were left expressionless.

The team stayed that way for a long time, no one moving. Eventually, Ziva let go of her knife and turned to face Tony, pulling him up and wrapping her arms around his neck. Tony looked over her shoulder at Tim. The younger man glanced up from Abby's hair and locked gazes with his partner. They seemed to take comfort from each other, even if they weren't speaking.

As Gibbs watched all this, he felt an emotion he couldn't identify bubble up in his chest. His team, his children, were growing up. It made him almost proud to see them pulling together. He almost would have said they didn't need his strength if it weren't for the fact that all four of them kept sending him glances, seeming to be reassured by his presence. Suddenly, however, he had the urge to go somewhere. He quietly left his post by the edge of the bullpen and snuck over to the stairs. Without making a sound, he opened the door and stole into the stairwell. Once he was a few floors down, he stopped for a moment. While the sadness was still there, another emotion was beginning to force its way up his chest. Anger. Gibbs found himself pissed, angry beyond words. Seeing his team like that yet again, broken and lost, made him fill with a rage he rarely knew. Whoever did this, hurt his team so badly, he would make them …

His breath caught in his chest. There was no one: his anger had no target this time. There was no terrorist, no criminal, no traitor: no one that he could hold responsible. In this death, there was only nature. This was the first time in a long time that Gibbs truly had no idea what to do with his anger. As he realized this, he forced the emotion back. He would deal with that later, but now was not the time. Instead, he continued on to his destination.

Later, he would look back and think it strange that he wound up at autopsy. He hadn't consciously thought of it, yet his feet had taken him here. With a sigh, he entered, only to be surprised that it wasn't dark as he expected it to be. The lamp on the desk was on, dimly lighting the room. What surprised Gibbs even more was the fact that the room was not empty.

A tall, lanky figure was leaned over one of the exam tables, his arms wide and hands pressed flat against the metal as he leaned heavily on them. Gibbs felt slightly guilty as he listened to Palmer's quiet sobs and shaky breaths. He hadn't noticed when the young man had snuck out, and now he didn't know if he should approach him. He should have watched out for the youngest of the group before, knowing that he, apart from Gibbs, had spent the most time with Ducky. Then his guilt intensified as he thought of his team upstairs. They had all turned to each other for support and comfort, while Jimmy had crept away to weep… alone.

Just as he was about to approach Jimmy, the sobs slowed and Palmer began to speak.

"Myocardial infarction," he said lifelessly. "Most commonly referred to as a heart attack, MIs are… are the results of an interruption of the blood supply to an area of the heart, causing heart cells to… to d-d… to be damaged. T-this is most commonly due to occlusion of a coronary artery following…. following the rupture of a vulnerable atherosclerotic plaque and white blood cells in the wall of an artery. T-the resulting ischemia and… and ensuing oxygen shortage can cause damage or dea… can cause damage to the heart muscle tissue." Hi breathing was shaky, causing him to stutter and pause. As he finished his rant, fresh sobs began tearing from his throat. "I know all that…. But I don't understand!" He broke down once again, bringing his hands to his face in an attempt to hide himself. Gibbs took a few steps into the room, hesitantly approaching the distraught young man. But as he approached, Palmer began speaking again.

"Gibbs said it was painless," he said to the air, not realizing said man was there. "But I know he lied. I know that it even if one quarter of all myocardial infarctions are 'silent', as it appears yours was, those resulting in… those that are fatal still cause discomfort. From the way Agent Gibbs described it, you probably had weakness and dizziness. Perhaps you even felt the palpitations: some people do. You would have had to have felt something.

"But…" he sniffed and tried to regain a bit of composure," but I what I want to know is if you were happy.

"Agent Gibbs said he was with you, and he said you were drinking your tea. I know it was Earl Grey: you like that in the evenings. Since Gibbs was there, you were in the living room, sitting in your chair, the one closest to the door. I know, cause you told me that's your favorite chair because it faces the window, and you can look out at the world. And I bet Gibbs was sitting across from you, drinking out of the Mason jar mug you bought and kept for him as a joke. You said he only ever drank out of that glass when he was over. So, you had your favorite chair, your favorite tea, and your closest friend. I'm glad… It sounds like a good way to go."

He stopped and swallowed. "I'm glad your last memory was a good one. I'm happy that when you di—" He stopped again, his shoulders sagging down. "Look at me," he muttered. "I work in a damn morgue and I can't say the word 'di—" As he failed to speak of death once again, Palmer let out a yell. "Damn it!" he cried. He snatched the glasses from his face and threw them across the room, shattering them against the wall. He turned, swinging his arm across the work area behind him, sweeping the instruments there onto the floor.

He went to grab something else to throw, but at this point Gibbs stepped in. He grabbed each of Palmer's wrists in his hands, spinning the young man towards him. "Let me go!" he yelled into Gibbs face, trying to twist away.

"No," Gibbs said calmly, softly. Palmer struggled against his grasp, but Gibbs was much stronger than the young man. Eventually, Gibbs felt Palmer's thrashing becoming weaker and weaker, until finally the Autopsy Assistant was panting with the effort.

"Why," he cried, dropping to his knees, his arms above his head as Gibbs still held his wrists. "Why did this happen? Why did he leave me? Why tonight? Why didn't I get to say goodbye," he cried out between his sobs.

Slowly Gibbs lowered himself once again to kneel on the floor. He released Palmer's wrists to place his hands on the shaking shoulders. "I don't know," Gibbs murmured. "It doesn't make sense, and it might never make sense. But Ducky wouldn't want you hurting yourself. Look," he reached down and lightly gripped Palmer's hand, motioning to a wound on his palm from an instrument he hit.

"But I don't know what to do!" Palmer sobbed. "I'm just so confused! It's not *fair*!" He broke down into sobs, not even trying to say anything else. Gibbs just kept his hand on his shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. After what seemed to be hours, Jimmy's breathing slowed and stopped sobbing.

"You ok," Gibbs asked.

"No," Palmer mumbled. He swallowed and looked down. "I just… Today was one of the happiest of my life. I couldn't wait for the weekend to be over, just so I could come into work and tell him. I even tought about skipping the wait and telling him tomorrow. He would have been so happy… and now I'll never get that chance." His voice was low and cracked, and what he said made no sense. The older man raised and eyebrow when Palmer chuckled lowly: the sound echoing hollowly in chest. "I guess… what they say is true. Bad news always accompanies the good." Gibbs decided it would be better to find out what he spoke of later.

Gibbs shifted his hands so they were under the young man's arms. "Come on, boy," he said heavily. "Let's get that hand of yours cleaned up." He helped Palmer to stand and led the younger man over to the sink. Gently, Gibbs placed the bleeding hand under the cool water. Eventually, Palmer collected himself enough to clean the gash on his own. With a little help from Gibbs, he mindlessly wrapped and bandaged his hand. "Better?" Gibbs asked.

"I guess," Palmer said softly.

"Come on then." He placed a guiding hand on Palmer's shoulder and led him towards the door.

"Wait!" Palmer said, pulling back, "I have to clean up my mess."

"Someone will get it later," Gibbs said as he nudged Palmer towards the door.

"Okay," Palmer said meekly. It wasn't until they were inside the elevator that he seemed to return to himself. Palmer sent a sidelong glance at Gibbs before pulling away from him and straightening up. Gibbs didn't say anything, but he did let the corners of his lips slip down a little further.

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_What do you think? I really love Jimmy, and I wanted an excuse to write about him. As you can probably tell, this story will deal a lot with Jimmy/Team interactions, but will focus on Jimmy and Gibbs. I already have everything planned out, and it shouldn't be longer than four or so chapters._

_(OMG, this is the first story I will have written that doesn't focus on Tim! What am I doing!?)_

_Thanks for reading. Review please?_


	2. Chapter 2

_Yay for chapter two! This is more from Jimmy's point of view. _

_Be warned! Jimmy acts a bit un-Jimmy-ish here._

_Disclaimer: I own no part of NCIS, including characters mentioned in the following story._

_x.x.x.x.x_

Jimmy felt… well, he had no idea how he felt.

In the space of five hours he had gone from being the happiest man alive, to a sobbing wreck. But now, after his ranting, he was empty. He didn't know what to think, or what to feel.

He sent a wary glance at the man standing next to him in the elevator. Scratch that thought: at the moment he felt awkward. The man who to this day could scare the living daylights out of him had seen him at his worst. Gibbs, the Marine, the terror and pride of NCIS, had seen him sobbing his eyes out like a scared, lost child, as well as doing his best to destroy Autopsy. It wasn't until he noticed Gibbs' hand on his shoulder that he panicked. He didn't want the agent to see just how much Jimmy wanted, *needed*, that human contact at the moment. Gibbs didn't need to be dealing with a distraught Autopsy Gremlin on top of everything else. Without a word, he stepped to the side, effectively dislodging the comforting hand. He squared his shoulders and lifted his head, trying to compose himself further. He refused to look at Gibbs again, and therefore missed Gibbs' frown.

The elevator doors slid open, and Gibbs waited for Jimmy to move. When he didn't, the older man stepped out first. Jimmy followed timidly.

"Gibbs!" Abby called out. The team hadn't moved much. Tim was now sitting in his chair, Abby curled around him, while Tony sat in his own chair, glaring at the space between his shoes. Ziva was the only one standing, leaning against the wall partition and fidgeting restlessly. As Gibbs approached, Abby unfolded herself from Tim and threw herself into Gibbs arms. Her arms wrapped around him, and Gibbs gently rubbed circles into her back. "Why Gibbs?"

The eldest agent just shook his head, tucking her head under his chin. "I don't know Abs," he whispered into her hair.

Jimmy held back awkwardly, not quite within the bullpen. He didn't want to be here, but he didn't really know *where* he wanted to be. So he stood to the side, watching the scene before him with a heavy heart and numb mind.

He jumped as a hand laid itself on his shoulder. He turned his blurred gaze upward to see Tony standing next to him. "How you doing Palmer?"

"Stupid question, Tony," Jimmy mumbled softly.

Unfortunately, Tony heard him. "Uh… yeah, sorry." He seemed to run out of things to say, but he kept his hand on Jimmy's shoulder.

Jimmy would never admit it, but he appreciated the silent form of comfort. The heavy hand kept him grounded, from feeling so out of touch that his mind simply floated away. For a long time he simply stood there, staring at the ground between his feet. The sights and sounds around him faded away as he tried to let his mind go blank. Right now, he didn't want to think.

"Jimmy?" Of course the world wouldn't leave him alone. The young man looked up to see Abby standing in front of him, her arms stretched out to him. With a heavy sigh, the autopsy assistant stepped forwards into the embrace, Tony's hand sliding from his shoulder. She hugged him tightly, but he didn't respond other than to wrap his arms around her shoulders. "I'm so sorry."

Jimmy swallowed, hard. "I… it's ok…" he whispered, wishing he could believe his own words.

"No it's not…" Abby moaned miserably. "It's not okay, and I don't know how to fix it. But… but we'll do something… We'll… We'll… We'll stick it out as a family!" She tightened her arms around him, nearly suffocating the thin man. "I promise!"

Finally he reacted, lowering his head to her shoulder and hugging her back. "Thanks Abby," he whispered into her shirt.

After a few more moments, he tried to pull away. Abby resisted at first, but eventually let him go. "I need to get home," He said quietly. "Breena… I'll need to tell her. I don't think I really want to go to her parent's house tomorrow."

Tony chuckled lowly. "Why would you want to go in the first place? To spend more quality time with Mr. Scrooge?"

Jimmy shook his head. "I… we were going to tell them about Breena. She wanted to tell them in person."

"What about her?" Tim asked. Jimmy was surprised and touched to see the concern in his eyes. "Is she ok?"

For the first time since he'd gotten the call from Tony, the young man gave a small smile as he realized the team did not yet know of his good news. "Yeah. She's fine."

"Then what's up?" Tim prompted again.

The small smile got wider. "She's pregnant."

A silence fell over the room. "Wh-" Tony stuttered. "You…"

"Oh my God!" Abby said breathlessly. Before he could react, Jimmy found himself in her death-hug for the second time that night. "Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!I can't believe it! Congratulations! You guys will make awesome parents! This is so cool! I'm gonna be an aunt!"

Jimmy wheezed when she let him go. To his surprise, Ziva was the next to step forwards. "Congratulations, Palmer," she told him softly. "I am sure you will make a wonderful father. A child is truly a blessed gift."

"Uh… Thanks, Ziva," he mumbled and she too gave him a hug, although much calmer than Abby had.

Tim offered his hand to Jimmy. "Congrats, Jimmy. It's good to see one of us start a family."

"Yeah," Jimmy started to thank him, but pulled away with a gasp. He had forgotten about the cut on his hand: the physical pain had been blotted out by emotional turmoil.

"Hey, what happened?" Tim asked, looking at the thick bandage that had appeared in the hour or so since the younger man had disappeared.

"Nothing," Jimmy mumbled, looking away. Tim, as well as the ever silent Gibbs, frowned. Before he could say anything, Jimmy was jerked away.

"A kid! Oh wow, Palmer, you think you can handle that? I mean, it's a lot of work," Tony told him cheerfully, pulling Jimmy closer by his shoulders. "You have to buy toys, clothes, cribs, diapers (ew), and all that other important stuff. But," he said solemnly, "there is something even more important to think about. Something that could change your child's entire future!"

"What?" Jimmy asked warily.

"Names!" Tony cried. "So, how about Anthony? Anthony Palmer: has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"And what if it is a girl?" Ziva asked. "Surely Anthony is not a proper name for a girl."

"Well, our Tony seems to have gotten along just fine with a boy's name," Tim said cheekily.

"You wound me, Probie," Tony huffed. "Ok, if it's a girl, what about Antonia?"

"I… don't know," Jimmy said awkwardly.

"Well, if you name him/her/it after me," Tony continued, ignoring Jimmy's hesitance, "I can offer my assistance to you. Raising a kid is a big responsibility, and you, my friend, are going to need all the help you can get!"

"Yeah," Jimmy mumbled. The joy that had returned to him with the announcement of his child quickly fled at his next thought. The one man he really needed help from, the man he always went to advice for, was gone. His shoulders slumped once again. Dr. Mallard… his mentor, his role model, his teacher… gone. The man that had influenced his life more than anyone before would never talk to him again. He would never be able to correct Jimmy's false diagnosis when the young doctor panicked over his child's cough. He would never be able to reassure Jimmy that his child exhibited normal mental growth. He would never hear himself be called "grandfather".

"Jimmy?" a soft voice called to him. He raised his head from where it had fallen against his chest. As he did so, he finally felt the tears that had begun to leak down his cheeks. He wiped them away, embarrassed to have shown such weakness in front of the team.

"Sorry," he whispered. He glanced around at the sober, worried faces directed at him. Apparently his retreat into his own misery had reminded everyone else why they had gathered in the first place. "I… I do need to get home," he said softly.

"I'll drive you," Tony offered.

Jimmy shook his head. He didn't want them to think he couldn't take care of himself. "No, I'm fine. You go on home. My house is a bit out of the way for you."

"It wouldn't be for me," Tim told him. "I'm driving Abby home as well, so you're welcome to a ride."

"No, thank you," Jimmy replied, a bit more forcefully than he meant. "I said I'm fine."

"Jimmy-," Ziva said softly.

"I said I'm fine!" Jimmy nearly growled, shocking the team. In the back of his own mind, he was also shocked. "I just want to go home. So thanks, but no thanks!" With that, he turned on his heel and stalked towards the elevator. No one stopped him as he got into the car and let the doors slide closed behind him. Once he knew he was out of sight he let himself deflate. He shouldn't have snapped at them like that. They only wanted to help, but he didn't want their support. In reality, he didn't want them to see just how much he needed their help.

He mindlessly exited the building, walking towards his car. There was a crushing pressure in his chest, one he couldn't name. It nagged at him, wanting release, but he didn't want to give in. He swayed a little bit as he reached his car. God, he felt tired, but he still attempted to pull himself together. He drew his keys out and tried to unlock his car. Tried being the operative word. His hand were shaking so badly (from exhaustion? Emotions?) that he couldn't hold the key steady. Paired with his blurred vision he couldn't fit the key to the lock. When he gently swayed on his feet again he had to rest his arms on his car for support.

"Maybe I should have taken them up on those rides after all," he mumbled to no one. He rested his head on his arms, thinking maybe he could regain some of his composure if he rested.

"Palmer." Jimmy jumped a foot into the air. He stumbled back, tripped over his own feet, and landed hard on his backside. With a groan he looked around to find the speaker. Gibbs was leaning against his truck, which he had pulled up in front of Jimmy's car. He looked down at the younger man, cocking his eyebrow.

"Oh… uh… Hi, Agent Gibbs," Jimmy said lamely. "I… I didn't see you. Well, I guess that's obvious, seeing how much you scared me. N-Not that I was actually scared! Just surprised and shocked… which I guess mean the same thing. But I wasn't scared! I just…" he babbled for a minute longer before his caught Gibbs' impatient glare. He trailed off into silence.

"You finished?" Gibbs asked. Jimmy nodded pathetically. Gibbs rolled his eyes and offered Jimmy a hand up. He hauled the younger man to his feet. He dusted off Jimmy's shirt and then nodded to his truck. "Get in."

Jimmy blinked. Surely he didn't mean… "Uh, no thanks, Sir" he winced as Gibbs glared at the word 'sir', "I can drive."

"Did that sound like a request?" Gibbs gave him a pointed look.

"Y-yes, Agent Gibbs. I-I mean no. I mean.…," Jimmy swallowed hard. Gibbs said nothing. Jimmy sighed in resignation and headed towards the other vehicle.

Both men climbed into the truck. Jimmy hesitantly buckled himself in before staring at the windshield. The vehicle shook slightly as Gibbs restarted the engine. With a quiet rumble, which seemed to be a roar in Jimmy's ears, the truck started off. Neither spoke as Gibbs drove out of the Yard and onto the road. Jimmy felt he was suffocating as the silence stretch on and on. He didn't dare to speak. He could barely see the road outside and he was too scared to look at Gibbs. Instead he stared at the dashboard and tried not to think.

It was easier that way. Without thinking, he didn't have to remember what had happened that night. He didn't have to think about the fact that he would never see Dr. Mallard again. It wasn't fair, given how he had parted company with the man yesterday. He had been so excited that it was Friday and he could spend a date night with Breena that he had rushed through all his work. Dr. Mallard had chuckled at his assistant's hurried antics. He had begun telling Jimmy another story, presumably one of when the good doctor himself was young and looking forwards to a young lady's company. He had droned on, as was normal, but Jimmy didn't pay any attention. The ME hadn't even been halfway through his anectdote before Jimmy was running out the door, a breathless farewell thrown over his shoulder. He had no idea that would the last tale Dr. Mallard ever told him. Jimmy felt a fresh set of tears build up in his eyes as he realized he couldn't even remember the little bit of the story he heard.

With a swipe of his wrist he knocked the tears away. He was really bad at this not thinking thing.

"You shouldn't have been driving." For the second time in less than ten minutes Jimmy jumped at Gibbs' voice. He still couldn't bring himself to look at the agent, but he did attempt a side-long glance.

"I… I would have been fine," he mumbled quietly.

"Oh really?" Gibbs replied. "Then tell me what that sign up there says."

Jimmy squinted at the green sign that hung above the highway. He realized two things at once. One: they had made it to the interstate without him realizing it. Two: he couldn't even see the words.

"I can't read it," he whispered.

"What was that?"

Jimmy sighed in defeat. "I can't read it. I can't see anything without my glasses."

"Hmm." The silence returned as they both knew Gibbs had proved his point. But Jimmy couldn't leave it at that.

"I had a spare set in my car," he told the other man softly, defiantly.

"So?"

"So, I would have been able to see fine," Jimmy argued, a little bit of his earlier anger returning. With a panicked glance at Gibbs he bit his tongue. He could lose his temper with the rest of his friends, but no way could he snap at Gibbs and get away with it!

"That's not the only reason," Gibbs stated quietly, his eyes never leaving the road. Jimmy didn't respond other than to direct his gaze outside. "Ducky would've been pissed if you joined him just because you were too stubborn to admit you couldn't focus."

"I was fine to drive! I *am* fine," Jimmy spat out. He forgot the resolution he had made not seconds ago to keep his temper in check. He turned fully in his seat and glared at Gibbs. "I'm not helpless! I can handle myself just fine! Good God, do you all really think I'm so pathetic that I can't handle this on my own? Am I really so unstable that I can't even make it home?" He felt his face burning as the terrible pressure in his chest, in his head, grew to a crescendo. "I don't need you looking after me! I don't need your help, and I don't want your help! So Dr. Mallard's gone. I'll be fine on my own! I can take care of myself! How... How dare you think you can just take control of me, just like the you do with Tony, with McGee, with Abby!" A small voice in the back of his mind told him that he was being unreasonable, that he wasn't even making sense. He didn't care. He was pissed, and he needed to yell. "I don't know what's going to happen now that he's gone, and I don't know where I'm going to end up! But not matter what I'll be just fine on my own! Do you understand? I'll be fine by myself!" He turned once again in his seat, this time facing the window. "I'll be fine," he muttered angrily to himself.

Later he would berate himself for acting like a child. He would acknowledge what his logical mind would tell him: that he was merely going through the anger phase of the Kübler-Ross model. For now, though, he drew into himself, both physically and mentally, and quietly fumed.

Gibbs said nothing.

The rest of the trip passed quickly and silently. It never once occurred to Jimmy that Gibbs knew the way to his home. As far as he knew the man had never been there. None the less, Gibbs accurately guided the vehicle down the correct roads and turn offs. It wasn't long before the old truck was rumbling down a quiet, darkened suburban street. So lost in his own seething, Jimmy didn't notice as the vehicle came to a stop in front of his own driveway.

"Palmer," Gibbs called, bringing the younger man out of his musing.

"What?" Jimmy growled irritably.

"This is your stop. Unless you're coming home with me."

Jimmy glanced up, surprised to see his house outside. Even in his still angered state, the deep-set manners that had been driven home by his mother forced him to mutter an insincere thank you. He reached for the handle but found the door still locked. He turned expectantly to Gibbs.

"Can you let me out?" he asked, an undertone of impatience in his voice.

"Take the next few days off," Gibbs told him. "You'll get a call when it's time to come back to work."

"Whatever," Jimmy said flippantly.

Smack!

Jimmy's head snapped forwards on his neck. He stared in shock at Gibbs. While he was no stranger to the infamous slaps, he had never felt one that hard. Those were usually reserved for Tony!

Gibbs returned the stare, his gaze hard. "You're not the only one who's hurt," Gibbs told him. "The rest of the team is going to suffer as well. Let them help you. No one expects you to come away from this perfectly ok. Next time one of them offers you a kindness you pull your head out of your ass and accept it with the graciousness they deserve." Jimmy was about to reply when he saw something in those ice-blue eyes he never expected to be directed at him: sympathy and understanding. Then Gibbs shocked him even more by offering him a small smile, one rarely seen. "We're here for you, son. You don't have to tough it out alone. You'll always have one of us to lean on. Chances are we'll be leaning right back."

The door unlocked with a soft click. Jimmy climbed out and stood on the curb. He had barely shut the door before the truck was once again rolling down the road. For a long time Jimmy watched as the taillights slowly disappeared into the darkness. It wasn't until he could no longer see the tiny red lights that he turned to go inside.

A crooked grin slid onto his lips. "Thanks, Gibbs," he whispered to no-one.

x.x.x.x.x

_Reviews? Please?_

_For some odd reason I like the idea of Jimmy acting out in anger when in grief. He's normally so quiet and timid that I feel like too much stress would really get to him. If you've seen "New Born King" you know he can get angry if he wants! Hope you enjoyed!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Hey guys…._

_I really suck at updating, I know. Anyways, here's part three: the funeral. Well, actually, just the events before the funeral. I tried writing the actual ceremony, but I was never satisfied. So, here we are! Hope you enjoy._

_Diclaimer: I own no part of NCIS, including any characters mentioned in the following story._

x.x.x.x.x

He never was very good at tying ties. Maybe that was the reason he hated wearing the ridiculous things (other than the fact they felt like nooses). He knew the Half-Winsor knot, which had to be the most common of all the knots. Ducky had once given him a whole lecture of different types of knots. There was a Windsor, Double Winsor, Hanover, Balthus, Saint Andrew, Nicky, and many others. According to Ducky, tie-knots were a subtle art form. Bowtie-knots were an entirely different subject matter. Gibbs smiled sadly at his slightly cooked tie. Perhaps he should have asked Ducky to show him a few simple knots.

He straightened his black tie, the only one he owned, and checked to make sure the rest of his black suit was presentable. The last time he had pulled this suit out of the closet he had hoped it would be a long time before it would have to be seen again. Gibbs sighed and grabbed the last few things he needed from his night stand: keys, wallet, and badge. With a heavy heart he clipped his badge to his jacket pocket, the worn leather and metal shining somberly.

"Stop admiring yourself and get going," a gravelly voice permeated the room behind him.

Gibbs smirked and threw a look over his shoulder. "I've got plenty of time."

"Is that so?" Mike Franks deadpanned. He leaned back against the door frame and rolled his eyes. "I'm not so sure your team would appreciate you being late. Again."

Gibbs' playful expression darkened. "That was different," he growled as he turned back to his reflection.

"You're right, it was," Franks admitted. "But why haven't you seen the similarity yet?"

"Believe me, I have," Gibbs sighed. "I lost another one, Mike. I'm not sure how many more I can take." His eyes slid shut as the images of those he lost ran through his mind. "No matter what I do, it's never enough."

"Good God, Probie, stop wallowing in your own self-pity!" Franks growled. "That's not what I was talking bout, and I know you're not stupid enough to not know what I meant! None of us, not a single one of our deaths, was your fault. Not Kate's, not mine, not any of the others. And there ain't no way in hell you can claim blame for this one either!"

"I was there!" Gibbs hissed. "I should have known what was going on and done something!"

A ghost of a hand ran across the back of his head. "No, there wasn't. Take your own advice you gave the kid and pull your head out of your ass! This time, there's no one to blame. If anything, blame Ducky." Gibbs stiffened and rounded on his old mentor. "Oh, don't get your panties in a twist! He was a doctor: he was perfectly aware that something like this could have happened. Isn't it his fault for not doing something to prevent it?"

Gibbs glared. "No. There was no way he could have known."

Franks gave him a leveled look. "Exactly, and neither could you." He shook his head at Gibbs. "Keep that in mind. Now git!"

Gibbs turned his back on Franks. He walked out of his bedroom, not giving the empty room a second glance.

.-.-.

It shouldn't have been a surprise, really. They had all heard the stories Ducky told. They all heard about the many lives he had touched. Nonetheless, Team Gibbs was slightly shocked at the number of people present at the church. As expected, many NCIS agents were present, seated amongst the crowd. Some of the faces Gibbs thought he vaguely remembered from his European escapades. A handful of men, approximately Ducky's age, were dressed in various military uniforms: some American, some English. The rest of the crowd was unrecognizable, but the expression on every face was one of somber mourning.

A few benches at the front had been reserved for the team. Gibbs, having met Tony, Abby, Tim, and Ziva at the front entrance, slowly led his team up the aisle. Occasionally one of them would pause to talk to someone, both new and old faces. Eventually they reached their places, where another surprise was waiting them.

The Palmers were already sitting in the very front row, but they weren't alone. Breena was sitting on one side of Jimmy, holding onto his hand in support. On the other side of the ME's Assistant was a young man, appearing to be a few years younger than either of the Palmers. He and Jimmy were deep in conversation, and it wasn't until Breena tapped her husband's shoulder that they noticed the newest arrivals.

"Agent Gibbs!" Jimmy and his wife stood to greet the team, they young man beside them doing the same. "Guys! It's… I'm glad you all made it."

"Of course we made it!" Abby cried, giving Jimmy a tight hug before turning to grab Breena. "How are you feeling?" Abby asked as she pulled back, peering at the young blonde. "Morning sickness? Cravings? Mood swings?"

Breena laughed. "Just the first. I'm not far enough along to get any of the others yet."

"Poor Gremlin," Tony said with a grin. "I bet he can't wait for those stages to hit!" Ziva elbowed the Italian in the stomach.

"Play nice," she warned.

Gibbs said nothing, but he did quirk an eyebrow at the brunette man now standing awkwardly behind the Palmers. Jimmy noticed his look, and glanced over his shoulder. "Oh! Introductions! Right." He stepped aside to make room for the other man, motioning for him to step forwards. "Guys, meet Coll Pottinger. He's Doctor Mallard's… um…" He gave the brunette an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. What did you say the connection was?"

Coll laughed. "It's alright, it's a bit confusing," he said in a light Scottish accent. "Uncle Don's mother and my grandfather were siblings. I suppose that would have made him my father's cousin, but because of the age difference, he became "uncle"." He shrugged and swiped his shaggy hair out of his hazel eyes. "I guess the name just stuck, and he became something like my great uncle."

A black blur rushed through the group and latched onto the surprised Scotsman. "Oh my goodness, it's so great to meet you! It's nice to meet someone from Ducky's family! Not that we aren't his family too, but, you're like, blood family! Did you come all the way from Scotland just to come to the funeral? That's so sweet! Although, it kinda sucks that we had to meet like this. Oh! You should stay for a while and we can all go to dinner and get to know each other because if you're Ducky's family that means you're our family too and-"

"Abby, let him breath!" Tim said as he tried to pull the Goth off Coll. The rest of the team chuckled at the young man's stunned expression.

"Well, you just met Hurricane Abby Scuito," Tony explained. He stepped forwards and offered his hand to Coll. "I'm Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. You can call me Tony. This is Agent Ziva David. You can call her Ziver and this is Agent Timothy McGee. You can him McGeek." Tony reached up to rubbed the back of his head, soothing the place where Gibbs smacked him. "And *that* is Special Agent Gibbs. Thank you, Boss."

Coll finally shook himself from his stupor and smiled at the group. "It's a pleasure to meet you all. It's nice to put faces to the people Uncle Don told me so much about. He, and Jimmy here, had nothing but good things to say about you." He gave them a smaller, much more solemn smile. "Perhaps I will take you up on your offer of dinner. After all this, it would be nice to get to know the people Uncle thought of highly enough to call his family."

His statement seemed to remind the group of where they were, and why they were there. With a more subdued air, they arranged themselves on the benches and waited for the ceremony to begin.

x.x.x.x.x

_So, we meet Coll. In Season 9 Ducky mentions a Nephew in Scotland, but since he never mentions any siblings, I thought I would tweak their relation slightly._

_So… Comments? Questions? Concerns? I love hearing from you guys! Hopefully it won't be months before I post again._


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